


silver angel with devil's eyes

by Voidromeda



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Businessmen, Creepy, M/M, Obsessive Behavior, Out of Character, Panic, Psychological Horror, Stalking, Yandere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 07:34:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19970338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voidromeda/pseuds/Voidromeda
Summary: The gifts come intermittently, the letters are all written in English, and Yuuri has come to grow used to the fact that he has an anonymous, unseen man lusting after him. The police are of no help, and the coward won't show his face. He just wants to live his life as normally as possible - for the sake of his family. Things come crashing down real quick, however.In which Katsuki Yuuri has a stalker and a lot to lose.





	silver angel with devil's eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eroska](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eroska/gifts).



> This is a birthday gift for my friend for 24th of July (AO3 is mistakenly showing this as posted on the 25th). Happy birthday to her, and I hope she enjoys this. I apologize for any out of character behaviour, I've only seen a few episodes of YoI to be able to write this. Thank you for understanding.

It starts with roses – bouquets and bouquets of red ones, all bunched and bundled up together so beautifully, yet so daintily that Yuuri worries his clumsy fingers will ruin the arrangements. Perhaps he needs to be more scared, more terrified – worry over the fact that someone takes the time to come to his home every day and leave roses in his name, always red, always reeking of romance. The writing is in English, but not handwritten – just bits and pieces of newspaper clippings to make words, and Yuuri’s heart stops in his throat every time he reads each letter.

They are all confessions that he cannot and will never respond to. He thinks about leaving a letter behind, something just to tell the person that he acknowledges them – that he knows they have feelings for him, but he cannot return them, but he never does. His mother stops him with a gentle hand, a lost look on her face that reminds him he cannot act thoughtlessly, and Yuuri always steps away from the gifts that his stalker leaves for him.

The roses escalate to something else – bizarrely, they escalate to _books._ English books, primarily, and a few odd Japanese books and comics that he recognizes as the next volume of the series he keeps up with. He doesn’t want to know how it is that the stalker is aware of where he is right now with his favourite series, doesn’t want to acknowledge it. He sets all of the latest volumes aside and goes out to buy them himself, just to erase the feeling and memory of the gifts.

Later it turns to clothes. Ones that he wants, favourites and wish lists online, and Yuuri prides himself on not crying. His mother, however, breaks down when the gifts escalate and he has to comfort her through it all. It isn’t like they can go to the police, not really. Initially, it is the disinterested way in which they say they can’t do anything until the stalker shows themselves that drives him off – later it becomes a stubborn, bitter pride that keeps him from going to the police station.

He isn’t prideful man – he never tries to show himself as anything greater or more than others, quietly bottles his judgement up in his heart and makes sure to bite his tongue when he sees proud people around him. But it is always the same, twisting feeling in his gut that makes him glare up at the station and promptly turn away from it. It is that exact same feeling, acrid and rancid like rotten meat on the tip of his tongue, that makes him the refuse even a suggestion of getting police help.

The police will never help him, and he won’t bother with them any longer. For the sake of his mother and father, he stomachs the fact that someone has every intimate little detail of his life written down somewhere – in a little notebook, surrounded by fantasies? Maybe the notebook is full of timestamps, dates, the people he speaks to. Are his friends safe? Is his family safe? Questions that he can never confidently answer yet pop up regardless.

They come up when he tries to sleep, plaguing him at night and keeping him awake while he stares at the mountain of gifts from his anonymous, lovesick predator who waxes poetic about him in English. Is his Japanese not good, or does he just not want his parents to know all of the lascivious fantasies he details out? And he knows the stalker is a man – the notes refer to the stalker as such, and Yuuri wonders if he is strong enough to fight back another man.

Maybe.

The days drag on like that – the gifts come intermittently, every other day instead of every day, and Yuuri makes a habit of selling them online just to make some money. He doesn’t want the gifts of a man he doesn’t know anything about, but he might as well put them to some use and keep it hidden that he isn’t the one who buys these in the first place. It hurts, almost, how quickly he grows accustomed to the constant, unseen presence in his life – the anxiety that makes his heart tighten up and implode doesn’t rear its ugly head anymore, the paranoia settles deep in his belly but never flows up and out of his throat. There is a gaping hole in his heart, one that he hopes this bastard never gets to fill, and Yuuri listlessly goes through life wondering when this person will show his face. Or will they never do so? It is amazing how he goes from being scared and cowardly to… accepting it. Maybe amazing isn’t a good way to put it.

But what else is he to call it?

He closes his diary, his thoughts all jumbling together to make an unappealing mess that not even Yuuri can read. In a few days, he is going to begin his new career – he will throw away his old shell, throw away the man he may have been if he keeps at it, and then he will become someone entirely new. He will become an insignificant speck in the monolith’s shadow, and he will be okay with that. He looks at the small, old TV in his room, stares and watches as ice skaters dance so intricately along their field and be judged – both harshly and fairly – by the judges, and he reaches over and turns it off with a loud _click._ There is no need for him to think about these things anymore. That life is gone, and he needs to be born anew.

Even if his new life involves a sociopathic stalker, Yuuri is fine with moving forward like this even as the nightmares plague him and he can’t bring himself to accept love into his life. He stares and stares and stares at the black TV screen. He waits. And waits longer. A few more minutes turn into ten, fifteen. He busies himself with reading, writing, watching videos on his phone, avoiding the news –

What is he waiting for? A miracle?

_That will never happen again._

* * *

The company he is going to work at is _huge…_ and very foreign. The CEO, despite the company being set in and originating from Japan, is a Russian ex-skater. He is as beautiful as they come – hair a shining, glimmering silver, so gorgeous and well-kempt. His eyes are made of a colour so dull yet glimmer bright with life and joy, that Yuuri finds himself lost in his gaze despite only staring at pictures of the man. His lips are soft, his mouth a gentle, pink heart that makes his smiles look as vibrant as the sun and as romantic as a star-filled sky with a full moon. Yuuri can go on and on, waxing poetic about his new boss’ beauty, but it isn’t like he can help himself. The man is beautiful, a painting made reality. He wonders who the artist is who grabs their brush and moves it across their canvas, giving birth to an unrealistic being such as Viktor Nikiforov. Sweat gathers at his palm when he thinks about being underneath the care of his former idol-turned-businessman, and Yuuri has to inhale and exhale slowly for several seconds until his heart slows down.

 _‘I can’t believe I’m going to work here now.’_ Yuuri thinks to himself, even though he knows he will be working there as a lowly salaryman.

“Katsuki-san?” a kind voice calls out to him and Yuuri breaks out of his spell to look down at the person who calls out to him.

Realising his rudeness, he places his hands together in front of him and bows quickly. “Yes! That’s me. Thank you so much for having me.” he says, his ears burning bright with embarrassment, and he straightens his back up to meet the woman straight in the eyes. The joy in her expression never once falters, a clipboard in her arms and confidence in her posture, and Yuuri feels both small and secure both her. She gestures at him to follow and he obeys.

The assistant that escorts him to his floor is kind; she is a small, rotund woman with a neat bun of thick, brown hair. A rosy blush paints her cheeks and her lips shine with purple lip gloss. Her cheeks puff up and make her eyes seem smaller when she smiles, wide and pretty, and Yuuri sees his own mother in her. She talks about and explains the company to him, telling him what his job and role is going to be, and he walks through the rows of people busy working away on reports, documents, random excel files, what have you. It isn’t exciting work, not by a long shot, but Yuuri is still glad to be given this opportunity. He smiles down at her and talks with her as best he can, the woman far more animated than he gives her credit for, and he lets the lilac softness of her voice carry him on. It is when she is about to seat him down at his new cubicle and give to him all his necessities that the door to the office area opens, and a group of gasps echo in the room.

He looks up.

There in the door stands Viktor Nikiforov, wearing a suit far more expensive than Yuuri’s entire career in ice skating and with his hair perfectly gelled and his heart-shaped lips curling into a slow, creeping smile. Some of the women in the office talk amongst themselves, curious as to why their CEO is just now coming to their floor, while the men try to hurry and make themselves look presentable as to impress Viktor. His footsteps echo in the office, loud and clear and incessant in Yuuri’s ears, unrelenting and unkind, even when Viktor beams so sweetly and looks like a child in a candy store. He peeks in on some of his workers, eyes wide and his smile never once fading, his gaze growing vacant even as his lips strain to uphold its joy. He gives loose praise to some, his manicured nails a sky blue tap along the cubicles as he walks along the halls.

He prowls like a lion seeking out his prey, and Yuuri’s heart leaps up to his throat. Sweat dampens his palms, his manila folder nearly drops from his hands, and his heavy breathing goes unnoticed by the assistant as she takes to Viktor’s side and tells him about… something or other.

It isn’t admiration that makes him react this way. It isn’t admiration that makes his throat clog with wool and his head fill with static noise. It isn’t admiration that makes his stomach flip and vomit almost spill out, and it sure as hell isn’t what is causing his heart to slam up against his ribcage in an attempt to escape. His throat rubs raw with each swallow, his lungs constricting and failing to gather oxygen, and it only gets worse when Viktor actually looks at him. The smile changes, widens, becomes sharper, his eyes go from dim and vacant to sharp and predatory, and Yuuri wants to run. An apex predator stares him down, baring its sharp, prim teeth, and Yuuri can’t tear his gaze away from the promise in that icy look.

Cockroaches and ants crawl underneath his skin, dragging their cuticles across his dermis and then sinking in deep, and Yuuri has to count to ten several times for his mind to come down to reality.

He knows this sensation. Oh Gods, he knows this sensation so well. He knows the crawling, biting, stinging feeling – he knows it so well, has gotten used to it, ignores it, pretends no one is there, staring him down and desiring to sink teeth into his meat. Viktor’s footsteps echo with a death knell’s grace, the chatter fading away until there is nothing but the rush of blood in his ears and the footfalls of his new boss. His assistant smiles excitedly, happy to see Viktor greet the newcomer on his own, unprompted from her. He stands before Yuuri, his body casting a guillotine shadow over him, and it is with the assistant’s prompting that he stands up and looks up at Viktor.

Blue. Yuuri always likes the colour blue.

Yet as the sky in those eyes take him in, capture him, captivate him, it is fear that strikes him and roots him in place. It is the realisation that Viktor is ensnaring him in a trap that makes every single muscle in Yuuri’s body tense up. He is broader, bigger, taller – beautiful, handsome, gorgeous, lovely, fascinating –

A painting come to life.

He brings one hand up, offering it to him as a handshake – not waiting on a bow, not at all – and his visage softens, looking once more like an overjoyed child or a kindly older brother figure. “Katsuki Yuuri, am I correct?” Viktor says, his accent bleeding through and it makes him sound exotic, untouchable, distant. “I am your new boss, Viktor Nikiforov – though, I am sure you already knew that. It’s a pleasure to meet you – I hope you serve our company well.”

His hand flies up on its own volition, clasps around Viktor’s, and the grip around his is strong, firm. Unbreakable. It squeezes tight around him, his thumb traces across Yuuri’s wrist, presses down on his pulse, and then he lets go just as quickly as he shakes his hand. The smile never once fades. His heart never once slows. A heart attack sits ready and wanting in his chest. Yuuri tries not to pass out. “Y – yes! Please take care of me, and I will do my best for the company.” Yuuri stutters out and he fights back the urge to bow, no matter how badly he wants to hide his face and pretend that Viktor isn’t there.

The predatory gaze is back.

“I often forget to greet my new employees, you know! Yagami-chan here… isn’t she so stern!?” he cries out and he throws his splayed hand up in the air. “Always, always telling me to remember to greet my employees – that it’s important!” he huffs, then places his left fingertips on his forehead while his right hand curls into a fist atop his chest. “I just can’t get used to it! Running a Japanese company… _Very, very hard! But… it’s worth it to meet you, isn’t it?_ ” he slips into English at the end there, much to the awe of all the other workers there, and all the colour drains from Yuuri’s face.

No one else realizes what he is saying. No one else can understand him. His mouth dries. Viktor’s smile turns toothy, predatory.

“Well, I must go now. Take care, Katsuki-kun!” he sings out and then skips away, looking so carefree and sweet. And upon the moment that he and his assistant are gone and Yuuri is sitting down, tears come unbidden and leave salty trails down his face. He is silent, merely sitting there and letting his tears come, his hands trembling as he tries to get to work.

Why?

_Why?_

**_Why why why why WHY!_ **

* * *

“Katsuki-san!” assistant Yagami’s voice rings out to him, breaking him out of his thoughts, and he sits up in attention when she comes jogging up to him. Her bun is a little messier from the light jog, her expression momentarily tired then quick to be sunny again. “Viktor-san called out to you. He said he would like to speak to you in his office – to praise you for working hard on your first day!”

 _‘No,’_ he thinks frantically, _‘no, not him. Please, not today. I have to leave.’_

Yuuri nods and smiles. “Thank you, Yagami-san. I will make sure to go up there right away. Thank you very much for telling me.”

“Mhm! I think you should go home for today, after you’re done speaking to Viktor-san. No need to work overtime too much today – okay? But work hard every other day, Katsuki-san.”

“Of course, Yagami-san.”

The door slams shut behind her, probably unintentionally. Goosebumps rise across his skin and Yuuri tries to breathe. Tries to drag oxygen into his lungs while he packs and sets everything up for the next day. The panic from hours, hours ago comes back full force, slamming into him, and he tries not to breakdown and cry. He needs to quit as soon as possible. He needs to leave. Leave the country – but… but Viktor is rich. Powerful, even. Even richer with the success of his company. Where is he going to run to? Where is he going to go? Can he even afford plane tickets to get away?

_‘Don’t cry. You cannot cry. You must not cry. Do not cry. Do not cry. Do not…’_

He exhales shakily.

The walk to the elevator is far too short – feeling like mere seconds despite it being a few minutes at most. The music that plays grates on his nerves, reminds him of where he is and keeps him tethered to the world instead of letting him run off to his dreams. Smooth. Short. Quick. He doesn’t get much time to prepare himself. _Thud. Thud. Thud_ goes his own feet. The sound bounces off of the walls and into his ears, the hum of the air conditioning joining the footfalls and the static in his head to create a buzzing cacophony. He knocks on the door.

“Please come in.”

His voice is as smooth as silk. The door opens to a standard looking office – professional, sleek, elegant. Nothing too fancy, nothing too overwhelming, but just enough to sing of power and demand praise. Viktor sits at his desk with his elbows on the table and his chin resting on his palms, his smile wide and his eyes glimmering, glittering with love – twisted, deformed, _demented_ love. He won’t stop staring into Yuuri, stripping him bare and exposing him like a fat pig on a silver platter. “Yuuuuuri,” Viktor says with a sigh, his voice distant and dreamy, “Yuuri, Yuuri… Yuuri.” he repeats, over and over. He rolls his name around on his tongue, testing it, loving it. He sighs, love struck, and Yuuri’s entire being shrieks at him to run. “Yuuri, come here.” fearfully he obeys, shuffling over slowly to Viktor, but he seems content to watch.

The look on his face… the hyper focus, the sharpness of his smile, the glint of his teeth – it is a predator staring him down after pouncing down onto him, reminding him of his place in the food chain, and Yuuri sees a shadow of a noose swing back and forth the closer he gets to Viktor.

“Why did you never keep my gifts?” Viktor asks, his expression falling and upset paints him; whether it is genuine or not, Yuuri can’t tell. “You know I do that because I don’t want you to have to worry about money, right? I buy you everything you want, because I know how you want them… I wish you kept them… but – but you’re selling them too, aren’t you? They’re of use to you, right? You’ve made a lot of money from them?” Yuuri nods jerkily. “Oh, I’m so glad… I wish you kept them, something of mine with you – ah, ah… the very thought makes my cells sing with joy! Can you hear them, Yuuri? Can you hear them yearning for you?”

He can’t. He doesn’t want to.

He stays quiet.

“I’ve loved you for so long, but I could never get the opportunity to talk to you. But now… now you’re here. And you’re mine. I can love you, I can protect you. I can give you everything you want… and I’ll even let you climb like a normal worker, even though you deserve better. Isn’t that wonderful, Yuuri?

“Please don’t leave me, Yuuri.” he stands up gracefully and walks over to Yuuri, his fingers grasping his chin and he tilts his head back up to look at Viktor. He bends down. “I don’t know what I’d do if you left me.” his eyes flash in warning. “I’d fall apart if you tried to leave me.” he leans in closer, his breath mingling with Viktor’s. His hands refuse to obey his mind’s endless, rampaging screams of terror, of rage, of hatred.

“I love you.” Viktor promises before he presses his lips to Yuuri’s.

The noose vanishes and gone, gone is his escape as Viktor chains Yuuri to him and never, ever lets go.

**Author's Note:**

> [ Pillowfort ](https://www.pillowfort.social/transistor) | [ Tumblr. ](https://transistories.tumblr.com/)


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